


Willow and Grackle: Side Stories

by adexia



Series: Willow and the Blackbirds [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Dehydration, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Other, Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-06 02:40:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15184949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adexia/pseuds/adexia
Summary: A collection of some looks into the lives of Willow and Grackle, and their friends, after the events of the main story.





	1. Road Trip (Bad) - Whump

**Author's Note:**

> so I accidentally 7000 words

Willow and Grackle settle into a peaceful life at the dorms. Grackle finds employment in acting as a courier for the clinic, delivering parcels of medicine to patients who need regular refills. Willow buys a slightly larger bed for his room, so he and Grackle can both fit more comfortably. Grackle even makes an attempt to socialize with Willow's friends and colleagues, though he still prefers spending time in their shared room when things get busy.

Grackle feels really happy for the first time.

Returning home from a delivery one evening, excited to keep reading the book about the pirate queen with Willow, he hears footsteps behind him. He slows down from his jog, straining to hear. One person, it sounds like, soon joined by two, then three. They slow a bit when he does, then break into a run.

Grackle begins to run as well. Years of experience have taught him that people chasing him never have good intentions. Best to get somewhere more public quickly, then make for home. Three more people dash out from around a corner to block his path. "Not so fast, Blackbird," one of them says. They're all wearing dark clothing, and they look large and muscular. Grackle darts off to the side, making for some shadows he can disappear into, but one of those from behind cuts him off.

"Someone wants to see you, and we suggest you come quietly," the speaker from before continues, drawing a polished wood club from his belt. "Ain't afraid to get rough." Grackle narrows his eyes and he draws two daggers from his hips, backing up slowly. Someone tries to get behind him; he whirls, shifting his grip in a swift movement to slash upwards. The assailant cries out in surprise, staggering back and clutching their face.

"I offered civility," the speaker says with a shrug. "Get 'im."

Six people close around Grackle. He opens his eyes wide, and sees some of them hesitate, probably unnerved by how his pupils reflect the dim ambient light. Someone lunges and he leaps back, jabbing an elbow into whoever tries to grab him from behind. He focuses himself into a whirlwind of steel, waiting for an escape route to open while he keeps his attackers at bay. There--one of them breaks away from the pack, stumbling away with blood covering their face. He darts through the gap and into the shadow of a building, and vanishes.

He moves through the shadows, up to the flat rooftop shaded by an umbrella. He emerges and looks over the edge, watching his assailants try to search for him in the shadows. He grins; looks like that little trick saved him. Without waiting to see if they'd give up, he resumes his way home, leaping between rooftops.

Willow's waiting when he climbs in through the window; he no longer needs to go in that way, really, but it lets him see Willow's face faster. His sweetheart smiles, then looks shocked and rushes to his feet. "Grackle, you're covered in blood!"

"Not mine," Grackle assures him, shedding his jacket so he won't get blood on Willow when the physician runs over to hug him tight. "Got attacked."

Willow looks up in alarm, immediately checking him over for any injury. "You didn't get hurt, did you?" Grackle shakes his head. Willow sighs in relief, pulling Grackle close again. "I'm glad you're safe." Grackle buries his face in Willow's mass of curly hair, calming himself with the scent of herbs and fresh linen.

\---

Grackle maintains vigilance for the next few days, but his assailants don't reappear. He hopes they've given up the chase; maybe whoever's paying them wasn't paying enough for the trouble. He lowers his guard, but still keeps a watchful eye out as always.

One night, he's walking with Willow after the physician had a hard and tiresome day at the clinic; taking a stroll through the balmy night air always seemed to re-energize him just enough. "It's really pretty tonight," Willow says, smiling and looking up at the stars twinkling in the blue-black sky. "The ancestors must be happy for us." Grackle feels himself blush, and he squeezes Willow's hand, humming his assent.

He hears footsteps behind them; one pair, then two, then four, all very quick. Heart pounding, he grips Willow's hand tightly and whispers, "Run."

They run, Grackle careful to keep pace with the slower Willow and not leave him behind. He hears a _clack_ and _pop_ up ahead and skids to a stop, using precious time to yank Willow's scarf up over his face to cover his eyes and mouth, to protect him from what he expects to be a smoke grenade. Light explodes at their feet, and Grackle cries out, eyes searing before he gets a chance to close them.

Someone grabs at him from behind, but he yanks away before they get a chance to close their hand. He finds Willow again and pulls him close, blindly sidestepping. "Willow??"

"I'm fine!" Willow holds his hand tight. Grackle squeezes back. He blinks his eyes rapidly, trying to return his vision, but everything is a mess of white and grey. Willow is pulled away from him suddenly and he hears him yell out in protest. "Let go!"

Grackle surges forward, grabbing blindly in an attempt to reclaim him, but someone else pulls him back, calloused hands wrapped around his wrists. "I did offer civility," the voice from the other night says, uncomfortably close. Grackle's heart pounds. "See what happens when you don't cooperate? You get ordinary citizens caught up in your trouble, Blackbird." He hears Willow's strangled cry, hears him coughing. "Could've avoided this."

"Don't hurt him!" Grackle says desperately, trying to escape his captor. "Don't!"

There's a moment where all he hears is Willow struggling to breathe. "Promise to behave if we keep this one safe?" Grackle nods frantically. Willow takes a deep gulp of air and coughs again. His breathing after is wheezy and irregular, but it's there. Grackle relaxes a bit.

"Right," the voice says. "Let's go, lads." Someone clubs Grackle on the back of his head. He staggers forward, what's left of his vision turning black.

\---

Grackle isn't sure how long it takes for him to reawaken. The floor under him is rattling up and down. It feels too hot for it to be nighttime still, but he can't see a thing. His head throbs, and so do his eyes. He can't have gone blind from the flash bomb, can he? He blinks rapidly and shifts his head, trying to look around. The sound of cloth covering his head brings realization. A sack or hood is blinding him. Giving his eyes time to focus, he can barely see light through small gaps in the threads. He tries to reach up to remove it, but his hands are stuck behind him. Something coarse binds his wrists together, and tugging on them scrapes his skin uncomfortably. Experimentally, he tries to move his legs, but discovers his ankles are bound as well.

Grackle bits back panic. He's been restrained before. He can handle it. He--

A hand touching his head startles him and he jerks away. "Grackle, it's me," Willow whispers, voice muffled by the cloth. "I-I saw you moving."

Grackle's breath hitches. He wants to talk to Willow, try to reassure him, but he can't find his voice. They'd said they'd keep Willow safe--Grackle hadn't imagined they'd meant taking him along as well. He hears a distressed whine escape his throat.

Willow pets his head gently. "I'm okay," he says, still keeping his voice low. "They didn't hurt me, but--I guess they're gonna use me to keep you calm..." His voice wavers. Grackle leans into the touches, desperate to be as close to Willow as possible. "We're in a covered wagon. They took us out of town, but haven't mentioned where they're going."

Someone barks for Willow to shut up, and Grackle doesn't hear him speak again. He lifts Grackle to lie on his lap, carefully rubbing his back and shoulders. The action does help to calm him, but panic is still rising in his gut. What are they going to do to him? What are they going to do to Willow when they don't need him anymore? He's grateful Willow can't see when frightened tears start spilling down his cheeks and he has to bite his lip to stop from sobbing out loud.

\---

Grackle has no idea how much time passes, but Willow lets him know when they stop for the night. He's painfully thirsty and hungry by this point; their captors allow Willow to feed him some slices of crusty bread and give him a cup of water, but not remove the hood. Willow sits in the rear of the wagon with him, massaging his arms to try and keep his hands from going numb from the restraints. It's not unpleasant, but Grackle wishes it was under better circumstances.

"Someone's definitely noticed us missing by now," Willow says after he's settled Grackle up against his side. "I bet we'll be rescued before long."

Grackle hopes so. His panic has faded, but fresh waves of dread wash over him constantly. What kind of person would want to capture him alive? He supposes there are bounties out for him and the other Blackbirds, but they'd made sure to remove every piece of evidence of their identities from their old home. He lived as "Gray" in the clinic dorms, and the others had taken assumed names for their new lives as well. How and why had these people tracked him down?

He eventually falls into an uneasy sleep, wishing he could wrap his arms around Willow just for the night.

\---

It feels like another day's worth of travel before the feel of the road under the wagon changes. Grackle listens intently, and determines that they're on cobblestone instead of bumpy dirt. Another town? It seems Willow can't see outside the wagon, but Grackle hears him shifting around nearby.

The wagon eventually comes to a stop. There's muffled discussion outside, then the sound of the wagon's rear covering being pulled open. Willow puts a hand on Grackle's shoulder and squeezes reassuringly before someone climbs inside and pulls him away. "Where are you taking us?" Willow asks, voice brave despite the waver in it. Grackle feels someone pull him out of the wagon and heave him over their shoulder, then start to carry him away. Willow's voice is more distant when he calls out, "Grackle, I'll be okay! Don't worry!"

He's taken indoors, but beyond that he doesn't know what sort of building. Doors open and close; he tries to memorize the layout, but blinded and muffled as he is it's difficult. His carrier drops him onto a hard mattress. He hears their footsteps, hears a door shut, and hears a lock click.

He's alone. He doesn't know for how long.

Some amount of time later, the door unlocking and swinging open grabs his attention and he tries to sit up. He hears footsteps rush over to him and kneel by his side, before they're locked back in again. "Grackle, are you alright?" Willow asks, pulling the hood off. The room is dim, but it still takes his eyes a moment to adjust so he can see. Willow's face is worried. Grackle doesn't feel alright, but he's at least uninjured, and he doesn't want to worry Willow more than he has to, so he nods. Willow sighs in relief. "They said I can untie you. Or, try to. I don't know if I'm much good with knots."

He shifts to kneel behind Grackle and gets to work on the rope binding his wrists. He holds as still as possible, heart sinking every time Willow makes a noise of frustration. He don't know if he can stand being bound for however long they intend to hold him for. Finally, with a triumphant, "Got it!" Willow pulls the ropes loose, throwing them aside. Grackle's up on his knees before he realizes, pulling Willow close and burying his face in the crook of his neck. Willow returns the embrace, stroking his hair. "You're alright now. We'll be alright."

The ropes binding his ankles are easier for Willow, and soon, they're huddled together on the mattress, Grackle with his arms wrapped desperately around Willow. Willow pets his hair to try and settle him, and it works just a bit. Someone slides a tray with bread and water into the room through a small flap, and Willow leaves him just long enough to bring it over. "You should eat more," Willow encourages him. "I'm fat, I can go longer with less. It's medically sound." Grackle shakes his head in protest, looking at the extra two slices Willow's trying to offer him. "You need your strength for whatever's going to happen. Grackle, please?"

He eventually relents, though guilt eats at him more than hunger would have. Once the tray is clear of crumbs, he tries to calm himself down enough to assess the situation.

The room is barren. The only furniture is the mattress and a chamber pot. The door is locked from the outside, and there are no windows. The walls are a solid stucco, and the stone is floor. The only tools at their disposal are some scratchy rope, a hood, a tray, and two empty ceramic cups. His daggers and other weapons and tools were taken away, probably before they even put him on the wagon.

He's tired. He'll try to come up with an escape plan tomorrow. "Do you wanna try to sleep?" Willow asks. "We can push the mattress into a corner if you'd feel safer..."

Grackle nods. He moves the mattress, while Willow stuffs the hood with the rope to form a makeshift pillow. "It's not going to be really comfortable," he apologizes. "But it's probably still better than going without..."

"It's fine," Grackle mumbles. Willow offers a weak smile. Grackle settles down on the side against the wall, and Willow lays next to him. Grackle tucks his head under Willow's chin, closing his eyes and imagining they're back in Willow's dorm room, with the lingering smell of baking hanging in the halls. Willow's warm body against his is just enough to help him feel a little safer.

\---

Grackle isn't sure how much sleep he managed to get, but he doesn't think it was enough. The door opens and heavy footfalls enter, waking them both. Grackle is the first to sit up, jumping to alertness and blocking the still-dozy Willow with his body. Two people haul Grackle to his feet by his upper arms, while the third keeps an eye on Willow. "Wha, where are you taking him?" Willow asks, trying to wake up faster. He goes to stand but the third thug pushes him back down roughly. Grackle watches him desperately until he's dragged out of the room and another hood is yanked down over his head.

Cold iron shackles snap around his wrists, binding them behind his back. His breath catches and his heart starts racing, already knowing what awaits him now. Punishment. He struggles wildly in his panic until one of his captors slugs him in the gut and he doubles over, gasping. "You best stop that," she says sharply. "We'll hurt the other one if you don't knock it off."

Willow. He has to protect Willow. With a low whine, he does his best to ignore the cold of the cuffs and stumble along with his captors. "He's so pathetic," the voice says. "Is this really one of the Blackbirds?"

"That's what the informant said," a second voice answers. "And maybe they're not all this weak. Just disappointing that this is the one he wants."

The pair take him down what feels like a straight corridor. His hearing is muffled by the hood, but he picks up on the sound of a breeze outside a window. He makes a note of it as a possible escape route. There's a pause and a door opening, and he's pulled inside a new room. "Wait here." One of them shoves him down onto a rug-covered floor, and as he struggles to right himself he hears them both exit.

Grackle tries to take deep breaths to settle himself. Whatever's waiting for him can't be good, but panicking won't help him now. The shackles dredge up awful memories, but he can deal with those. For now, anyway. Maybe if he can focus on trying to form an escape plan…

The door opens again and he sits up straighter, ready to spring away at the first chance. Heels click deliberately on the floor before coming to a stop. A hand grasps the hood and yanks it off. He blinks rapidly in the bright room, trying to adjust after spending so long blinded and in dimness. He looks up into a face that seems somehow familiar, a man with a streak of white in dark hair. "These mercenaries claim you're a Blackbird," he says. "For their sake and yours, I hope they're correct."

Grackle doesn't let any emotion show as the man, probably a merchant of some kind by his dress, crouches before him. "They also tell me they brought along an extra. Someone you seem very fond of. Do you know what it's like to lose somebody like that?" Grackle says nothing, staring just to the side of his captor's face and trying not to shake. "Hopefully, you won't have to find out. I'm not as cruel as you." Grackle shifts his gaze forward, looking the man in the eyes. "You see, Blackbird, I found out when you murdered my sister Diamante."

Grackle blinks. That explained the familiarity; he'd spent weeks monitoring the late Lady Diamante prior to executing his assignment. "It so happens there's a large bounty out for any Blackbirds caught," the man continues. "I don't necessarily need the money, but if it rids the world of scum like you, I'm willing to hand you over."

Grackle still doesn't answer. "First, though, I intend to exact some revenge of my own. I'm going to make you match the pain I felt!" The man stands swiftly, and Grackle starts to get to his feet as well, fully prepared to dodge any assault, but the merchant is faster. He slams a leather boot into Grackle's gut, knocking the wind out of him and toppling him back onto his side.

The merchant shoves the boot against his back, forcing him to roll onto his front. Grackle struggles to regain his breath and right himself again, but the boot comes again, jabbing into his side repeatedly. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to will himself to his feet when the boot comes down hard on the back of his knee. He cries out, immediately biting his tongue after to keep himself quiet. He hears the merchant take a few steps back, breathing heavily. "Not done with you yet," he mutters, leaning down to yank Grackle over onto his back.

Grackle forces himself to sit, thinking that this was nothing compared to what he's been through before. He can endure this kind of beating. He just has to get back to Willow in one piece. The boot collides with his shoulder, interrupting his train of thought. He hisses in pain, instinctively yanking at his shackles in an attempt to hold the newly sore spot. The merchant shoves him back onto the floor, then brings his foot down to rest on Grackle's vulnerable throat. He goes still, staring up at his assailant and doing his best not to provoke him.

"I can't believe how easily I could kill you," the merchant says, eyes wild and hair disheveled from his exertion. He presses down just a little bit more. "Just hold you down like this for a few minutes..." He presses harder. Grackle gasps for air, feeling his windpipe squeezing closed. He starts to thrash against his tormentor, struggling to get free, but this only seems to encourage the merchant to press his neck against the floor.

Grackle feels himself growing lightheaded, and grey and white lights pop in front of his eyes. The pressure finally releases and his starving lungs take in air in huge, unsteady gulps. "That's more mercy than a monster like you deserves, though," the merchant says, wiping at his forehead with his sleeve. Grackle feels sweat and tears trickle down the sides of his face, and he shuts his eyes to avoid looking at him. "And besides, I won't be done with you for a while yet."  
The merchant gives himself a moment, time that Grackle gratefully takes to recover himself. He lies on the floor, trying to steady himself. Before he can calm himself much further, a solid kick to the side brings him back to dreadful awareness. He doesn't have time to even register it before the merchant finds a rhythm of kicks and shoves, inflicting pain on every part of Grackle's body he can reach. Grackle finds himself blanking out, lost in the pain.

Some time later, he's dimly aware of two people speaking. "I'm done with him," the merchant says. "Get him out of my sight."

"At once, Carvaho." Is that one of the two who'd brought him in? He can't tell. Someone sits him up and tugs the discarded hood back over his head, not that he feels in any shape to care where he's going. He's slung over their shoulder and carried back down the same hall, then thrown down onto the mattress without regard for his comfort. The shackles are unlocked and pulled away, along with the hood.

Willow is immediately in his field of vision, blurry but a wonderfully welcome sight. The physician gathers him up into his arms, and despite the comforting warmth and scent of herbs, he cries out in protest as his battered body is moved again.

"It's okay," Willow whispers. He feels him stroking his hair, and that alone helps him settle down. "I'm here, Grackle. I'm right here for you." It's a while before he can bring himself to move, but he eventually manages to bunch himself up against Willow's body, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

\---

Grackle drifts in an exhausted daze until their food is brought in. He makes himself sit up to eat, but he doesn't have the energy to finish chewing through their meager meal. Willow makes sure he at least drinks his cup of water and sets the remains aside.

He doesn't know how long it's been by the time he actually wakes up again. The room is completely dark, except for a dim sliver of light from the gaps around the door flap. Willow is fast asleep at his side, arms wrapped around him securely. Grackle sighs and buries his face into Willow's shirt, trying to imagine they're back in the dorm instead of trapped in ancestors-knew-where. The aches from his earlier beating come to the forefront and interrupt his fantasy, dropping a ton of hard reality on him.

He shoves all thought aside and tries to fall back asleep.

\---

It feels like no sleep was gotten at all by the time the door opens an unknown amount of time later. By the time Grackle brings himself to awareness, Willow has already disentangled himself from Grackle and is standing in front of the mattress. "Are you going to hurt him again?" the physician asks, putting on a brave voice.

One of the mercenaries sighs and grabs Willow by the arm, yanking him away while the other retrieves Grackle. "We don't _have_ to play nice with you," she says. "It's only to keep your friend in line that you're even _alive_. You'd better be damned grateful." She practically throws Willow into the far wall.

Grackle flails against the other mercenary's grasp, overcome with the need to get to Willow again; the shackles close around his wrists and lock them behind his back before he can force his complaining, sluggish muscles to react. He tries to call Willow's name, but his voice is stuck. The last thing he sees before the hood closes over his head again is Willow crumpling to the floor in a heap.

The mercenaries end up having to carry him to the room from yesterday. Grackle finds himself too exhausted to fight them, let alone walk. He's flung to the floor again, and he lies still, waiting for what'll happen next.

It feels like ages before the door opens again, and he braces himself for the click of heels, but it's the thumping of the mercenaries' boots again. Someone hauls him up to stand, and removes one wrist from the shackles. He tries to break out of their grip then, but one of them locks a hand around his throat to hold him steady as another drags his arms up, re-securing the shackles hanging above him. He hears them step back, and his throat is freed, letting him breathe again. "Looks good enough," one says, and they leave.

Good enough? For what? Horrid thoughts course through his head, reminders of when he still worked for Rook. This position is uncomfortably familiar, and sends fresh waves of panic throughout his body. He squeezes his eyes shut under the hood, easily falling back into that old mindset. Whatever's coming, he just has to endure it without making a sound. It's just a punishment.

Minutes slide by painfully slow as he waits. His already aching arms complain from being held up so long. Whatever he's chained to, he can't lift his body enough to slip his wrists free. Somehow, the anticipation feels worse than the upcoming punishment surely would be. At least Rook got it over with quickly.

The door opens, and straining his ears, he hears the click of heels. Carvaho--that's his captor's name, he remembers--strides over to stand in front of him. The hood is lifted off, and as Grackle blinks to adjust to the light, Carvaho takes his jaw in his hand. "Is this yours, then?" He holds up a dagger, one of Grackle's daggers. Grackle looks at it, but says nothing. Carvaho holds the dagger to his face, cold blade pressing into his skin. "Is this what you killed my sister with?"

Grackle remains silent, not that he feels any answer would have spared him. Carvaho tightens his knuckles around the hilt and presses down hard, dragging the dagger down his cheek. Grackle hisses in pain, trying to jerk away, but his chin is held fast. The dagger is pulled away, leaving a sharply throbbing mark that's already dripping blood down his skin.

Carvaho steps back, staring down at the bloody blade for a moment. "...Right." He grabs the front of Grackle's shirt and pulls it forward, thrusting the dagger forward. Grackle jerks backwards, afraid he's about to be stabbed, but the blade just cuts down through the fabric, slicing the shirt open. Carvaho slices the hems apart and yanks the sides of the ruined garment aside. He stares at Grackle's torso a moment, no doubt taking in all the old scars, and promptly turns on his heel.

"Oh stars," he hears the merchant mutter, and Grackle feels himself relax a bit. This man was so soft that he couldn't handle a few old wounds? He can't imagine what he'd do if he saw his back. He snorts lightly through his nose.

Carvaho turns back to him, scowling. "Oh, is this funny to you now?" he demands. "I said I'd repay the pain you caused me, and I intend to!" He grips Grackle's shirt, holding it aside with a white-knuckled hand. The knife dances closer to his exposed body. Carvaho takes a deep breath and drags it down his ribs. Grackle winces, but it's no worse than other injuries he's had to endure. The knife shifts aside, and pulls down again, the movement steadier and more certain this time. Grackle cracks an eye open, and is chilled to see an emboldened look on the merchant's face.

"I wonder if it would be more effective for me to cut up your little sweetheart," Carvaho says, dragging the blade downwards again. Grackle's breath catches and he stares at him wide-eyed. "Oh, now there's the reaction I want!" The merchant grins, bringing the bloody dagger up to scrape on Grackle's jawline. "You really are attached to him." The blade bites into his skin, drawing forth more blood. "I didn't think a monster like you could feel anything, with all the killing you do. Is he your little pet?"

Grackle clenches his teeth, but says nothing. Hearing this man talk about Willow like this makes his blood boil, but there's nothing he can do about it now. Just bear with it, he reminds himself. Carvaho studies him a moment, then brings the dagger back down to his chest. "...Let's add to your scars."

The torture is silent from then on, broken only by a breathless gasp from Grackle when the blade cuts into a particularly sensitive spot. His chest stings from over a dozen long, shallow cuts and even more small wounds caused by flicks of the tip of the blade. The smell of blood and sweat saturates the air, and it's all Grackle can do to keep from sagging in his bonds. He slumps back against the post he's shackled to, hoping for it to end soon.

Carvaho steps back from him at last, and Grackle hears him breathing heavily. "I think you've had enough for today," he says, throwing the dagger to the floor with a clatter. He walks to the door and opens it, calling for a mercenary to return Grackle again.

Grackle doesn't fight as he's re-shackled and hooded again, though being flung over the mercenary's shoulder grates on his wounds and he lets out a weak cry of pain. He's flung back onto the hard mattress, and adding injury to injury, a kick is delivered to his gut. "That's for gettin' blood on my clothes," the mercenary says, before removing the hood and shackles and leaving.

He opens his eyes blearily and is greeted with Willow's face, eyes rapidly filling with tears as he sees the state Grackle's in. "Oh, Grackle..." Willow grabs one hand in both of his, squeezing gently. "I'll do my best to take care of you. Wait a minute." Grackle mumbles some vaguely assenting noise, and Willow stands, going over to the door.

"Excuse me, can I have some bandages?" Willow asks, pounding on the door. "I need to take care of him!" Silence answers; Willow pounds on it again. "Is anyone even there?"

The door pounds back, practically slamming. "Shut up in there," a muffled voice answers. "Just deal with it." Willow stands in silence for a moment, then returns to Grackle's side.

"I can do this anyway," Willow says. "I just need your shirt."

Grackle forces himself to sit up, removing the remains of his shirt before collapsing against the wall and closing his eyes. He hears fabric ripping, and then there's a stinging sensation as Willow gently dabs up what blood he can. Willow works quickly, murmuring reassurances and instructions to Grackle. "Just sit up for a second. You're doing really well. Can you hold this down for me?" Grackle follows his commands automatically, too tired to even consider otherwise. When he's done, he glances down to see the worst of his wounds wrapped up in the ruins of his shirt. It seems the smaller ones have already started to close.

Willow helps him settle down onto the mattress. "You try and sleep. I'll wake you when they bring food, alright?" Grackle nods, closing his eyes and shifting to rest his head in Willow's lap.

He tries to sleep, but some of Carvaho's words keep drifting through his mind. "...Willow," he whispers, unsure if his voice would even work again. He opens his eyes to see Willow look over in the dim light. "...Am I... a monster?"

"Stars, Grackle, no, of course not!" Willow reaches down to smooth his hair. "Did you choose to be an assassin?" Grackle shakes his head, leaning into Willow's touch. "And did you enjoy when you had to take lives?" He shakes his head again. "You had to do that because you didn't have a choice. You're not a monster."

Still feeling a bit miserable, Grackle, reaches up to hold Willow's hand. "Promise?"

Willow lifts the hand, pressing his lips to the back of it. "I promise."

\---

Willow finds himself a bit disoriented when he wakes on his own the next morning (is it really morning? he can't tell in here), instead of by a sudden intrusion to take Grackle away again. He sighs softly and rubs his cheek against Grackle's forehead, glad his battered sweetheart finally gets a chance to sleep properly during their imprisonment.

His skin feels far too warm, though. Frowning, Willow disentangles himself from Grackle's clutch, bringing up a hand to press against his forehead. He's burning up. "Oh no," Willow murmurs, fear creeping into his heart. "Oh no, Grackle..." He pulls himself out of his arms fully, squinting through the gloom to get a better look at him. He brushes a thumb down Grackle's cheek, wiping away a sheen of sweat. Grackle doesn't awaken from the contact, either.

Willow pushes himself to his feet, swaying a bit; leaving most of the food for Grackle has left him feeling less than his best. He finds his way over to the door, pounding on it with his fist. "Is someone out there?" he calls. "We need some medicine! He's got a fever!" There's no answer. "Please, I'm a physician! I can tell you what we need!" There's no answer. Willow waits a few moments, holding his breath. "Is anyone there?"

There's no answer.

Ignoring the prickle of tears in his eyes, Willow returns to Grackle's side.

\---

Grackle comes to awareness very slowly. He's warm, but too warm. His body feels heavy. His cuts are throbbing. He whines lowly, curling around himself. A soft hand caresses his cheek, and he sluggishly grasps it. "Hey," Willow whispers. "Don't try to move much. You have a really bad fever."

Fever? He opens his eyes to look up, and Willow swims into view next to him. "Some of your cuts must have gotten infected. I tried to ask for some medicine, but... nobody answered." He closes his eyes, pressing himself up against Willow. "I'll do my best to take care of you," the physician says. "But you're going to be miserable."

Miserable turns out to be an understatement. Hours later, Grackle is shivering violently, the air in the room chilling his over-warm body. Willow has wrapped him up in his arms, but the scant warmth can only do so much. His brain pops with small jolts of lightning whenever his eyes shift, or even at random. He longs for a real bed and real blankets. Willow murmurs soothing words to him, but he only understands about half the time.

When Willow leaves him for even brief moments, he cries out in weak protest, but can't even get up to try to pull him back. At some point, a cup of water is pressed to his lips, and he forces himself to swallow it. He can't muster an appetite for the stale bread, despite Willow's pleading. He drifts in and out of awareness, sometimes lucid enough to hear Willow telling some story. Just the sound of his voice helps, even if he's unable to really listen. At some point, he wakes to realize that Willow is asleep next to him again, arms and legs wrapped around his shivering body as much as possible. He presses his face into his chest and drifts off once more.

\---

He feels worse the next time someone comes for him. He doesn't even put up a token resistance as he's hauled off the mattress, shackled, and hooded like before. He faintly hears Willow calling out in protest, but he can't understand the words.

Before he realizes it, he's tossed to the floor of the room from previous encounters with Carvaho. He shivers weakly in the too-cold air, hoping this time is at least quick so he can get back to Willow's warm grasp.

Someone grabs him by the throat and his eyes flutter open. Dimly he recognizes Carvaho's sneering face, speaking words that Grackle is too sick to understand. He feels lightheaded and can't tell if it's from his air being cut off or from the fever spiking. His eyes slide shut again and something strikes him hard across the face, rousing him painfully.

"--lieve how pathetic you are," he hears the merchant spit. "No fight in you anymore. I should just go ahead and kill that sweetheart of yours and turn you over for some proper justice."

Grackle struggles weakly at the mention of Willow, but all he can do to protest is to shake his head. "And how do you expect to stop me, the state you're in?" He's flung back onto the floor, a boot pressing down on his chest to pin him. "A caged bird like you is absolutely powerless."

He dimly hears the door open, crashing into the wall. Carvaho shifts, managing to sputter "What do you th--" before something cuts him off with a strangled cry. His heels click unsteadily before he comes crashing down, landing across Grackle.

Someone picks him up. He smells leather and blood, and instantly leans into his savior's muscular arms. "Willow," he croaks. "Down the... hall..."

Willow is at his side already, cupping his face in his hands. "I'm here," he says. "They got me first." Grackle relaxes, eyes sliding shut.

Willow strokes his head gently, then looks up at Jackdaw as one of the other Blackbirds frees Grackle from the shackles. "He needs medical attention right now," he says. "Can we do that before we get out of here?" Jackdaw nods, shifting Grackle to hold him more comfortably. "I don't know if they'll have everything I need here, but can you look?" Jackdaw nods again.

They find a spare bedroom, one that doesn't have a dead merchant or mercenary in it, and Grackle is lowered onto the mattress. "Look for echinacea--coneflower," Willow instructs, quickly covering Grackle up with the blankets. "If they have a medicine cabinet, it should be labeled. Feverfew or willow bark will work if they don't have coneflower. I need bandages, some clean cloth, and a pitcher of water." The gathered assassins scatter, leaving Willow with one he doesn't recognize. "What's your name?"

"Raven," she answers. "How can I help?"

Willow smiles. "Raven. If they find the herbs I need, can you make a tea of them?" She nods. "Thank you."

The supplies are gathered, and Willow gets right to work, first cleaning Grackle's cuts with a soaked towel while Raven makes echinacea tea. He re-wraps the wounds in proper bandages, then sits Grackle up with Jackdaw's help and gets him to gulp down the tea, along with a cup of water. He still seems delirious and largely unresponsive, but being surrounded and helped by familiar people appears to help.

With the emergency treatment taken care of, Willow instructs the Blackbirds to bundle Grackle up in some blankets before carrying him outside. They emerge into the heat of the day, Willow taking great care to avoid looking at the slain mercenaries along the way. "Let's get him home," he says, following Jackdaw as she carries Grackle into the carriage they'd arrived in. "How did you find us, anyway?"

"The clinic hired an investigator," Raven says, settling on a bench as Willow positions himself near Grackle. "Hound. He tracked them here, and we..." She shrugs. "We were pissed."

Willow smiles tiredly. "Well, thank you for coming after us. I don't know if Grackle would've..." His voice catches, and he swallows hard. "If he'd have made it."

Raven doesn't answer, but she doesn't have to as the two stragglers clamber into the back, one holding a heavy, jingling sack. "Magpie!" she scolds.

"He's not gonna use it!" Magpie protests, before shooting a guilty look at Willow. "Er..."

"Nobody will hear of it from me," Willow says, turning back to Grackle.

Jackdaw sighs from the driver's seat and snaps the reins, urging the mules forward.

\---

They stop for the night hours later, after they're well clear of the town. Jackdaw and Magpie set up a couple tents, and Raven sets to boiling some more tea for Grackle. Willow stays with him in the carriage, accepting some soup and tea from Raven once the food is ready. "Grackle?" he whispers, brushing a thumb down the side of his face. "Wake up, there's food."

Grackle makes a low whining noise, but does open his eyes after a moment. Being bundled up in the blankets has eased his chill, but he still looks very unwell. Willow helps him to sit, giving him a mug of steaming tea to drink before helping him with half a bowl of soup. "We should be home tomorrow," Willow assures him as he rearranges himself to bunch up against Willow. "We'll have a real bed, and nobody will tear you away from me like that anymore." Grackle makes a miserable noise low in his throat, squeezing his eyes shut. Willow rearranges the blankets to cover the both of them and wraps an arm around Grackle's shoulders, hugging him close. His shivers abate somewhat, surrounded by the warmth.

Willow leans over, pressing a kiss to his damp forehead. "Get some rest. I'll be here when you wake up." Grackle sighs, nuzzling into Willow's shoulder and mumbling a 'goodnight' before falling into slumber.


	2. BTHB: I Know You're In There Somewhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grackle's been missing, and he's not himself when he returns.
> 
> Fill #6 ("I Know You're In There Somewhere" Fight) for Bad Things Happen Bingo

_Black feathers in hand. Knife in hand. Master giving instructions._

_Painting on wall. Grass, tree, water._

_Tree?_

_Where? Not home. Too green._

_Home? Desert. Tree. Not-desert-tree._

_Pay attention._

_Need to get home. Master?_

_Knife in hand. Blood on hand. Black feathers on floor._

_Tree. Home._

\---

Grackle’s been missing for three weeks, and Willow’s been beside himself with worry. He barely sleeps, staying up past lights-out in hopes he’ll catch him sneaking in through the window late at night, like he used to. The former assassin has yet to make an appearance.

Miserably, Willow continues with his studies and duties as well as he can, with the other Blackbirds check in with updates on their search for the missing of their number.

He’s sluggishly helping Poppy harvest fresh herbs when Jackdaw runs into the garden, skidding on the gravel behind them and putting a hand on Willow’s shoulder. “We found him,” she says breathlessly.

Willow drops his basket in shock, looking up first at Jackdaw, then at his fellow trainee. “Well go, then!” Poppy says. “I’ll cover for you.”

“Thank you!” Willow scrambles to his feet and takes off running after Jackdaw.

\---

_Home? No tree._

_Bird. Birds. Talking._

_Hands, grabbing. Don’t touch. Fear._

_Fear?_

_Guiding, leading. No tree._

\---

Jackdaw leads Willow to the apartment she shares with Raven. He’s out of breath from the run; even though Jackdaw offered to slow the pace for his sake, he just wanted to see Grackle again as soon as possible. What if he’s hurt or sick? He has to be, if Jackdaw didn’t just bring him along in the first place.

“Before we go in,” Jackdaw starts when they reach her door, “he’s… not right.”

“How so?” Willow pants, bending over with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

Jackdaw doesn’t answer right away, and Willow looks up to see uncertainty on her face. “I think Raven can explain better.”

Grackle is sitting at the dining table inside, and Willow is flooded with relief to see him apparently unharmed. Probably underfed and a little dehydrated, judging by his appearance, but no immediate injuries. He rushes over to him, but is stopped a couple feet away by Raven.

“Something’s been done to his mind,” Raven explains, in hushed tones. “He doesn’t… respond. He’s not speaking. I don’t know if he even recognizes us.” Willow puts a hand over his mouth in dismay. “But he’s alert, and I think something prompted him to get out of wherever he was and come back here. Can you take a better look at him?”

“Yes, of course,” Willow says with a nod. He steps around Raven, carefully approaching his sweetheart. “Grackle? Can you hear me?”

-

_Bird home? New home?_

_No tree. Waiting._

_Speaking. Tree?_

_Tree?_

-

Grackle inclines his head upwards slightly at Willow’s voice, fixing him with a glassy-eyed gaze. Willow swallows thickly, fighting to keep tears at bay. “It’s me,” he continues, encouraged. “It’s Willow.” Grackle doesn’t move this time, but his eyes do seem to focus a bit more.

-

_T͖̲̣͕̣r͖̼̗e͍̣e͔͓͙̙͖ ͇͕̗̜̤t͏̯̤̲͍r̖̥͎͈͚̗ḙ̴̪̰̯e̩ ̰̝̥̰̳͚tr͏̱̪̜̲̜̝ͅe̖̦͝e͕͟ t͎͚̠̫̗r̘̫͈̖ee̻̖̳̪͠ ̸̳͉̰̣t̠̺̥r̗̥̺̤e̮̩̠̳͖e̩ ̣̥͖t̺͉̖̕r̷͚͈͇ę̩̤̦͇e̡͕͖͇̪̱ ̘̹t̫͓̦͔̜͎r̨̦̘̤̣͉͇̤e̘͍e͈̫̬̪̭͘ ̱͙̭̳̲̣t͝r̼͙͝e͈̱e҉̜̻̠̮ ̫t͍͍r̹͚̮̱̮̞͖̕e͓̮̼̦̯͔̻e̤͈̳͔͔ ͉̥̠̩̞̱t̜r̹̙͎̤̜̘͇͠e͡e͙̖̳͖̪͢ ̩̜̭t̝̭̹͚ͅr̝͎͚̱e̫̙͓̘͟ͅe͘ ̙̫̲̘t̗̭̟͓r̻̹͎͇̤͓e̞̩̟͉̲̲e͕̬͖̼̥ ̳t̠̣̩͈̲̬̟͝r̲͇̙͕̭̤e̹̹̞̱̗̫̝e͏̟̺̩̩ ̷̱͓t̬̫̦̤̟r̤e͜e̷ t͇̞͚͎̖̩̲r̤̣̱̼͖̫͟ͅe̘̝̜̦̰ḙ̲͉ͅ ͇͈͓̣̙̙t̼͠ṛe̹͖e͚̼͘ ṱ͍̙͈r̴̜͓̩̬͖͇ḛ̵̱̪ͅe ͚̦̭t̶̹̲̳͔r͖̗̱̜͎̲͉e̥̘̖e̝̬ ̟̠͈t̹̻̦͇̮͉ṛ̡͓͖ͅe̻͚̟͉͕̞e̝̰̥̜̹̮̤ ̳͉̺̣ͅt̢r͔̬͡e̱̙̘̺ͅe̯̘̗̖ ̦̗̲̯̩̗͔t̷̪r͍̺͇͈̱e̴̖̜̺̖e̯͎̭̳̤̰ͅ ̳̤̤̥̹t̪r͍͚͎̥͔͍͍̕e̗̱͇ḛ̻̬̘͘ ̙̲t̶͚̱͕̱̯͓̰r̥̰ȩ̪e͉̱̱̜ ̫͕͕̤t̰̯̝̯̘̠͎r̸͓ͅęe͖̤̯̟̩̱ ͍͚̟̙̘ͅt̹͙͚̱͚̰ͅr̡̤̼͙̹̘̯̘e̶̜̣̗e͕ ̫̤t̹̞͎̖̦͓ͅṛ̹̳̟͇̠͞ͅȩ̮e̗̥ ̥͔̝̱̲̘̠͠t̩͓͈͖r̶̖̺̟̼̩̙̘e̸̜̣e ̠͍t̵̤r̫̗͓̖͠ͅe̛e̝̰̗̦̰͜ ̨̺̦t͇r̯̞͚͇͓e̦̪͟e̟̤̜̰̤ ̴̱̠̜̩̘͎t̗̜͖͚r͔̲͙̞̩̞̬e҉e̠͕̳ ̥̭̞̼͙ț͚̟͚̙͠ͅr͖̫̩̜͕e͉͜e ̰͔t͔͈͖̩͎̰r̹͖͇ͅe͔̱̤̖͞e̜̳̫ ̪̺͖̘̤͖͕t̸̩̗̟r̵̖͍͍̙͈̜e̖̮e͕͙̖ ̜t͟ͅr̭̼̩͕e̷͎̼e̶͕̞ ͍͙̥̮̲̹͜t͉̩̯̭r̟̩̻e̮̯̹̰̠̳ͅe̠͜ ̻͚̯t̷̲r͠e͝e̻̻̦͎ ̷̺̥͖t͚̺ṟ̵e͙̗͖̰͔̙͡e̵̪ ̷̠̯͎̯͖ͅt̯͝r͇̠̣̰̥̰̮e̦̪̩̞̲e͟ ̯̝̬̟͢t͇̺̹̠͇r̶͚̫̣̬e̢̤̹e̡͎͉͎̞͈ͅ_

-

“I… I think he hears me,” Willow says, swiping at his eyes with the heel of his palm. “Just a little. Grackle, can you say something?”

-

_T̛̹ͨ̾ͪ͘r͈̟̪̹̮͍͗̚ę̛̝͕̰̑ͧ̓̇͐ͫ̉ͅͅe͍̟̫̪̮̫ͨ̊̔͢_

-

After a moment with no answer, Willow takes a deep, slow breath to calm himself. “Okay. Okay. Grackle, I’m gonna examine you, alright?” He places a hand on the side of Grackle’s head, leaning in to take a closer look at his eyes. Seeming by instinct, Grackle reaches up to put his hand over Willow’s, eyes focusing in a bit. Willow’s heart lightens a moment, then--

-

_Hand. Don’t touch._

-

Willow yelps and stumbles back, clutching his hand tightly where Grackle had swatted it. “Are you okay?” Raven cries, rushing over to check him.

“Y-yes, it just surprised me,” Willow says, rubbing the sore spot. He can’t stop tears from welling up and spilling down his cheeks now.

“He did this when we found him,” Jackdaw says, cautiously approaching Grackle. “We tried to hold him and he… lashed out.” She holds her chin in her hand thoughtfully. “Willow, forgive me, but I need to try something.”

Willow looks up in alarm just in time to see Jackdaw swing her fist into the side of Grackle’s face, sending him sprawling onto the floor. “What are you doing?!” he cries, watching Grackle jump back to his feet. He blinks rapidly, holding his cheek with a surprised look on his face, before reaching to his belt for a dagger that isn’t there and raising his hand defensively, face passively blank again.

Jackdaw lowers herself into a more aggressive stance. “If he was still fully messed in the head, I think he would’ve fought back more,” she says. “I feel like he recognizes you and me, if nothing else. And maybe enough physical contact would bring him out of this. We sparred a lot… before. So if he’s gonna react violently to any touch…”

“...Then you’d rather you get hurt than me,” Willow finishes slowly. “Jackdaw, I’ll trust you, but I--I can’t watch this.” He shoots a pained look at Grackle before turning and walking briskly out into the hall.

“Raven, make sure he doesn’t escape,” Jackdaw says, lunging at Grackle again.

-

_B̷̸̷̘̩͉̝̻̺̰̙̭I̟̪R̢̙͜͝D̞̜̭Ș͈͜ ̝̺̞̞̘D͢͏͍͚O͖N͏̡͚̣͎̳̠'̺̤ͅT̴͖͓̟̝̠̫̕͘ ̸̷̬͇̠T̴̠̖O̖̯̱ͅṴ̢ͅC̳͇ͅH̵̡͓̜͔̪̤͍̘͙͠_

-

Jackdaw doesn’t know how much of Grackle is fighting her right now, but it can’t be a lot. She falls into her old practice patterns, watching Grackle counter on the fly from pure muscle memory. No flourishes--not that Grackle was ever prone to those, but he did still have his own touches. Maybe if she just lands a few solid blows, that’ll be enough to snap him out of this.

“You have to wake up!” she snarls, catching him in a fumble to drive her fist into his solar plexus.

He goes flying backwards, landing on the floor and slamming to a stop when his head collides with a wall. Jackdaw holds her stance, watching him intently.

-

_Hurts. Familiar._

_What…_

-

Grackle sits up suddenly, grimacing and clutching his gut. “Ow,” he groans, flopping back onto the floor. Jackdaw kneels at his side, looking him over. “Jackdaw… what…?”

“You back?” she asks, patting his cheek gently. He blinks in pained confusion, and she takes that for a yes. “Willow, he’s back!” she calls.

Willow runs back in without a moment’s hesitation, kneeling on Grackle’s other side and pulling him up into a hug. Grackle relaxes immediately, burying his face in Willow’s hair, focusing on his sweetheart’s warm and familiar presence instead of all the aches he’s slowly becoming aware of. “I missed you,” Willow whispers. “Don’t disappear again.”

“I won’t,” Grackle answers, swiping Willow’s tears away with his thumb.


	3. Dehydration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Hot
> 
> Fill #8 for Bad Things Happen Bingo: Dehydration

Summer’s last hurrah arrives in the form of a servere heatwave, expected to be broken by rainfall after a few days. The clinic is swarmed with cases of dehydration, sunburn, and heat stroke, keeping both the full physicians and the trainees busy, with hardly any time for breaks. Even Surgeon Laurel falls prey to the heat, succumbing in a faint after performing a stressful emergency operation. Predictably, everyone’s a bit miserable.

“You three are drinking enough water, right?” Instructor Aloe asks, checking in on Willow, Poppy, and Sage when they all get a break together.

“I dunked my head in the well,” Poppy says by way of answer, taking a break from fanning themself with their hands. Sage nods tiredly. “Willow too,” she says, gesturing vaguely to her napping friend sprawled out on the couch.

Aloe nods. “You got a few more minutes to rest, then we just need you for a few more hours,” he says. “After that you can head home.”

“Thank the stars,” Poppy groans, tipping their head back to dangle over the back of their chair. Aloe chuckles and leaves.

Sage counts out another couple minutes with her eyes shut tight, then goes to shake Willow awake. “Hey, we need to get back to it,” she says as he sits up, grumbling and rubbing his sweaty face. “...You’ve been drinking enough water, right? I told Aloe you were but I don’t really know.”

“Yes, I’m fine,” Willow answers, getting up and straightening his rumpled top. “Could use some more sleep, but I’m fine.”

\---

Willow’s not really feeling fine. There’s not been quite enough water to go around for everyone, so he gave Laurel most of his for the day after helping her to a cot. He just feels like if he can make it to evening, he’ll be alright. He can just have some fruit juice or something, and lie down for a while.

“Hey, are you alright?” Sage asks, waving her hand in front of Willow’s face. He blinks, realizing he’s been staring blankly at a wall for several minutes, a basin of soaked wash cloths in his hands.

“Um.” He tries to regain his senses. His mouth feels like it’s full of dust. “Yeah, I’m alright.” He looks down at the basin, and realizes he doesn’t know where he’s supposed to be taking this. “I’m alright.”

He turns away from Sage, weaving his way to the laundry room. Sage catches up easily, taking the basin from him as he tips sideways and stumbles into a wall. “Willow, go sit down!” she scolds. “You’re not well. I’ll bring you something to drink.” She hands off the basin to a nurse and turns Willow to the break room despite his protests.

Sage is right though. He makes an unhappy noise to himself and starts off to the quiet of the break room. He places himself in one of the chairs, holding his head in his hand and fighting to keep awake long enough for Sage to return.

Oh, the room’s pitching sideways now.

\---

He opens his eyes again suddenly, seeing Sage’s worried face above him and feeling firm hands at his back. “Hi again,” he mumbles.

Sage gently bops him on the head. “You’re too good for your own good sometimes,” she says, forcing a small cup of water into his hands. “Laurel told me you gave her your water.”

Willow makes an assenting noise and drinks the water in one huge gulp. It doesn’t make him feel better immediately, but his tongue feels less like it’s about to crumble like a dirt clod. Behind him, Poppy helps him to stand. “You’re going to go home and lie down,” they say. “We’ve got things covered here. I’ll just get you back, okay?”

“Wait, I can--”

Sage cuts him off with a finger to his lips. “No, you can not. You fainted.”

Willow feels himself wilt a little, but nods. Poppy escorts him out of the clinic and across the road to the dorm. Grackle’s waiting in the common area, and he leaps to his feet and vaults over the furniture when he sees the state Willow’s in.

“He’s dehydrated,” Poppy explains as Grackle lowers himself to look Willow over, running his hands through his hair anxiously. “And he just fainted. Make sure he gets something to drink and takes it easy.”

Grackle nods firmly, wrapping his arm around Willow’s shoulders and guiding him into the kitchen, fixing a glass of chilled fruit juice as Willow slumps forward on the table. “Here,” Grackle says quietly, sliding the cup in front of him.

Willow sits himself back up just enough to sip from the cup, and Grackle sits beside him, watching anxiously. “I’ll be alright,” he tries to reassure his sweetheart. The look on Grackle’s face seems unconvinced and even more concerned. “I was just kind of stupid today.”

“Not stupid,” Grackle murmurs, rubbing his back. Willow sighs and leans into his side, glad Grackle’s warmth is more comfortable than the hot air around them. He finishes his juice and allows his sweetheart to escort him back to their dorm room for a proper nap.


	4. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grackle's still hurting.

The cage bars press in around him, pinning his arms to his sides. He couldn’t lift his hands anyway, chained as they are to the floor. His breath comes fast and panicked in his exhaustion. He just wants to sleep, but there’s no room to lie down, and if he even tried the collar around his neck would choke him. He fights the urge to scream for help. If he screams, he’ll be punished. If he’s punished, he _will_ scream, and that’ll just result in further punishment, and on and on til his voice stops working.

 _ **Their**_ face appears out of the gloom. They say something, but Grackle’s panic rises too much to understand them. Grackle killed them. He saw their blood. He felt his dagger pierce their chest. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to will the face away.

The cage bars fall away, and he stumbles with his sudden freedom, caught only by the chain attaching him by his throat to the ceiling. Lights spring up in a circle around him, and he feels _**their**_ hand on his bare back, tracing the scars they left there before. He bites his lip so hard it hurts, forcing down a scream. He doesn’t hear it, but he knows the cat-o-nine-tails is coming.

Pain slices across his back in threes, precisely along the old and worn scars he still bears. He tries to pull away at all, but the chains tighten, forcing him to stand straighter and bare his throat or else begin to choke. He wants to scream now, to find some sort of release from the searing pain carving its way through his skin, but the collar is too tight now, cutting off his voice. He gasps weakly instead, feeling hot tears (or is it blood?) streaming down his cheeks.

His eyes fly open, met with darkness. The silence is replaced with the gentle song of crickets outside. His back is on fire. He struggles to sit up and falls over his bedmate in his haste to get out of bed.

Willow makes a sleepy sound, sitting up as Grackle slides to the floor and presses his back against the cool wood, covering his eyes with his hands. “Grackle?” the physician murmurs, looking down at him. “‘S wrong?”

Grackle can’t force any words to come up past his throat; he just shakes his head and stifles a sob. He hears Willow slide down next to him. He flinches away from his touch, curling away from contact more potential. “Bad dream?”

He nods stiffly. “Can I pet your hair?” He nods, lowering his hands just a little. Willow’s fingers tangle into his sweaty locks, running along his scalp so gently. He repeats the motion a few times, and that alone starts to calm him. He rubs his eyes to get rid of the tears that are collecting there, and brings a hand up to hold Willow’s free one.

Willow smiles a bit, twining their fingers together. “Better?” He nods. “You wanna sit up?” He does, shifting to his knees and immediately burying his face in the crook of his neck, almost immediately soaking his nightgown with fresh tears. Willow keeps stroking his hair. “Does your back hurt?” He makes an affirmative grunt, having no desire to move his head from its position right now. Willow hums gently in response, continuing to massage his scalp.

It takes several minutes, but Grackle finds himself finally calm enough to look back up, though his eyes are still hot and wet from crying. Willow wipes the tears from his cheeks and kisses him gently. “Do you want a hug?”

“Yeah,” he croaks, shuffling closer, folding himself into Willow’s embrace. His scars still prickle, but he knows he’s safe and loved, and that’s enough to make the pain start to fade again.


	5. Magpie and Starling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magpie returns home from an evening out, but something's wrong.

Magpie’s returning from a late night out–she loves this new freedom, the ability to go out whenever she pleases without having to answer to someone, and then come home to someone who makes her heart flutter like a bird.

Quietly walking up the hall, she stops when she sees their apartment door hanging ajar. Starling wouldn’t just leave it open. Something has to be wrong. Magpie quietly pulls two daggers out of her belt and leans forward to look in the gap.

The section of apartment she can see is trashed, and anger flares when she sees their jewelry box knocked over, open and devoid of contents. Maybe the burglar was still around. Keeping low to the floor, she pushes the door open and steps inside.

The door hits something halfway through opening, and Magpie freezes as she hears a groan. She slips around the edge of the door, dropping both daggers in shock as she sees Starling slumped against it, lying in a puddle of blood.

“Starling!” she whispers loudly, crouching down by them and reaching out to check for a pulse. Their skin is still warm, and there is a weak but steady thrumming at their throat. “Starling, are you awake?”

Starling’s eyes slide open, struggling to focus on Magpie. She puts a hand on their cheek. “Stay put. I’ll get Raven.” She moves to stand, but a weak hand grasping her coattail pulls her back.

Starling wheezes, trying to mouth words, but no sound comes out. Magpie’s heart wrenches and she crouches, grasping their hand tight. “I’ll be right back, I promise.” She presses her lips to the hand and sets it down, hurrying on out of the the apartment and pounding on Raven and Jackdaw’s door a few yards down.

“Raven, Starling’s hurt bad!” Magpie shouts as soon as she hears someone behind the door. Raven opens the door, sleepy and confused, but as the words reach her ears she grabs her medical kit off the nearby table and rushes out after Magpie.

Magpie’s only been gone less than a minute, but stepping back into the apartment she feels something is Wrong. She looks over to where she left Starling, and sees a trail of blood leading to the kitchen. Heart racing, she grabs her spare daggers and runs after it in hot pursuit.

She first sees Starling slumped against the counter, then the dark-clad figure hovering over them with a knife in hand. Magpie runs forward, pulling them back by the back of the shirt. She’s met with a very surprised burglar. “If you don’t drop what you took and hand yourself over to the constables,” she snarls, “I will find and kill you.”

He drops the knife and tears himself away from Magpie with a terrified whimper, shoving handfuls of jewels out of his pockets before dashing out the open door. Magpie kneels by Starling, reaching out to hold their hand again. “It’s okay, I came back,” she says, words all tumbling out. “Raven’s here. She’ll patch you up.”

Starling smiles weakly, letting their head loll to the side. Raven sets herself up on their other side, getting to work. “I can keep them in one piece for now,” Raven says. “But get them to the clinic first thing in the morning.”

Magpie nods, keeping her eyes on Starling while helping Raven with caring for them. Raven helps her get them into bed once she’s done what she can, and bids them goodnight.

Magpie slides onto the mattress next to Starling, petting their hair soothingly. “I’m sorry I left,” she whispers. “I panicked a little.”

Starling shakes their head, already starting to doze. “Saved me anyway,” they murmur. “Thanks.”

Magpie leans down to kiss them softly, then settles herself against the wall, determined to keep an eye out for the rest of the night.


	6. Road Trip (Good)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Willow and Grackle go on a road trip with some other clinic employees and things go very nicely and nothing bad happens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ARE YOU HAPPY NOW ELK

As fall starts to imperceptively make its way into the desert region, Yarrow and Anise start planning for one of the regular trips to the nearest city. A few times a year, the clinic sends a small caravan there to do some trading; sell herbs that thrive in the desert, buy ones that can only be grown in cooler climates, and other such trades.

Willow’s very excited to be offered a seat on the wagon this time, and he is even more excited when Anise agrees to let Grackle come along too. “It’ll take about a week for us to get there, do what we need to, and come back,” Willow explains as he’s packing his knapsack. “I got to go the first year I was working at the clinic, and it was a great learning experience for logistics and stockpile planning. But there’s some good shopping to be done too, and everyone who goes gets some personal time to explore.”

Grackle tilts his head curiously, looking up from his own, less full knapsack. “Like the night market?”

“Kind of,” Willow agrees. “A lot of the night market sellers get their goods from craftspeople in the city.”

Grackle hums briefly and resumes packing.

\---

The caravan sets off early the following morning, after a light breakfast that includes coffee for everyone. Willow opts to get some more sleep shortly after they clear the town limits, as do several other clinic employees. Grackle, ever incapable of napping, is happy to let Willow snuggle against his side and doze while he keeps watch.

Everyone is awake and more-or-less alert after lunch, so Willow joins Grackle in looking at the scenery going by, just enjoying the sun and the breeze. In the wagon behind them, Burdock pulls out his guitar from its case, livening up the trip with some music.

“Grackle, look!” Willow whispers, pointing at a cluster of trees around a small pool. Grackle leans forward a bit, and spots a trio of round-faced cats emerging from the shade, two of them smaller than the other. “Sand cats!”

“Did someone say sand cats?” Poppy asks, moving over to join them, beaming when they see the felines. “Oh stars, I love them so much.”

“Aren’t they so cute?” Willow says, and Grackle nods, watching them trot off around the little oasis and into the scrub.

He still thinks Willow’s excited face is cuter though.

\---

The carts stop shortly before sunset, and Grackle helps Poppy and two nurses picket the mules and put up tents while Willow and Anise get some fires going to cook supper. Road rations aren’t usually anything special, but Willow’s enthusiasm for camping out makes them taste a little better to Grackle.

As the sun sets, the travelers get some time to unwind before there’s a call for bedtime. Willow and Grackle pick a flat rock near the edge of the campsite for some time together.

“My aunts say that’s where our ancestors are,” Willow says, leaning back on one hand and pointing up at a cluster of stars. “Part of the Weeping Prince’s tears.” Grackle leans back as well, humming when he pieces together the constellation. “I think that’s kind of dramatic.” Willow glances sideways at Grackle. “What about you?”

Grackle stares up at the starry sky for a long while, eventually lying flat on his back to get a better look. “Not sure,” he murmurs.

Willow joins him on his back and grasps his hand, tangling their fingers together. “I bet yours are in the Shieldmaiden somewhere.” He points to the east with his free hand. “You always want to protect me, after all.”

Grackle feels heat rising in his face and covers it with his other hand, though he grins when he hears Willow laugh gently. “Could be,” he agrees.

They spend the better part of an hour stargazing before Anise calls them back for lights out, and they wrap up in each other’s arms in Willow’s tent before falling asleep.

\---

The next day progresses much the same as the first, though this time Willow’s more awake to enjoy the early-morning songs of desert birds with a bird of his own. They arrive in the city of Silverpost just past sundown, and after checking into their pre-arranged lodgings and making sure the mules are stabled and the carts are secured, they’re given a couple hours to find dinner and do a bit of exploring.

“There was a place with really good olives last time I came,” Willow says, hooking his arm around Grackle’s and leading him through the unfamiliar streets. Grackle had been here before as well, but he hadn’t spent much time walking around like most people, so it was a somewhat new experience for him as well. “Let’s see if I can find it again…”

It takes some asking around, but Willow is directed to Cicinero’s Eatery, and he and Grackle enjoy olive hummus, soft pita bread, and goat skewers, along with imported fruit juice Willow had never tried before. The streetlamps are lit by the time they get back outside, and Willow holds Grackle’s hand as they meander through the shops.

Grackle stops dead when they pass a window display with colorful silk scarves. Willow is tugged back in surprise when he realizes Grackle has stopped moving, and he turns to see what the hold-up is. “Oh… Like the one you lost,” he says, following Grackle’s gaze to a green leaf-patterned scarf. “Do you want me to get that one for you again?”

Grackle looks a bit ill as he shakes his head. Willow gives his hand a squeeze. “How about we both go pick out one for each other?” he asks. “Or we can find matching ones!”

Grackle looks down into Willow’s eyes, and feels better already for seeing him smile. “...Matching sounds good.”

They enter the shop and spend several minutes looking through the designs, and although they can’t find anything with the exact same pattern, they find two scarves dyed a soft gold, one with a delicate, swirly cloud pattern and the other with hand-painted constellations. Willow hands the money over, and they leave the shop wearing their new purchases.

They spend a little while longer just walking around and enjoying the experience of somewhere new and exciting before retiring to their small hotel room. “I’m glad you were able to come with,” Willow says, after he’s cleaned his teeth and changed into a nightgown and Grackle’s put on his sleep pants.

“Mm,” Grackle agrees kissing Willow on the top of the head. “I’m having fun.”

Willow stands on tiptoe to kiss him back, grinning. “Me too.”


End file.
